


The Kingdom They Built

by alpaca_punch, MissAdventurous



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Love Hotels, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Outsider, Pre-Canon, Relationship Study, Rimming, Sickfic, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28427529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpaca_punch/pseuds/alpaca_punch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAdventurous/pseuds/MissAdventurous
Summary: If someone told Mikoto at sixteen he’d spend almost a decade hung up on his best friend and themiddle schooler, he would’ve told them to beat it.Now if someone brought it up, he’d still say the same thing, but they’d be right.
Relationships: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki, Kusanagi Izumo/Suoh Mikoto, Kusanagi Izumo/Suoh Mikoto/Totsuka Tatara, Kusanagi Izumo/Totsuka Tatara, Suoh Mikoto/Totsuka Tatara
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Kebab

**Author's Note:**

> Main pairing is Mikoto/Kusanangi/Totsuka, the Yata/Fushimi side pairing is mostly in Chapter 3. 
> 
> I watched K for the first time a few days ago, although I’ve rewatched a few of the episodes and dug around on the wiki, I’m taking some liberties with canon because the timeline could be very vague about when/how specific events happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to quickly warn about Totsuka’s age— I didn’t feel like an underage warning applied (since his partners are also underage/teenagers themselves) but he is 14-16 during the first part of this fic.

At seventeen years old, surrounded by the smell of stale cigarettes and garbage, Kusanagi realized things were going to change.

He leaned back against the dumpster. His nostrils flared out with warm smoke. He flicked a stray line of ash off the cigarette. Next to him, with their thighs almost touching, Mikoto sat slumped over with his school sweater tied around his hips. 

“Good news,” Smoke spilled from Kusanangi’s mouth, “I got accepted.”

“Yeah,” Mikoto said it like there hadn’t been a question. Kusanagi’s lips pulled up into a close-lipped smile: certainly university applications would’ve been easier if the admissions staff felt the same way.

Kusanagi took a long drag of the cigarette. He stared up at the graffiti smeared across the old brick buildings. All sort of ugly markings: one for _Rengokusha_ , which had been partially written over by a rival gang, another for what had to be a student couple _M+A._ He blew out another plume of smoke. 

“You’ll have the middle schooler to keep you company,” Kusanagi leaned closer to Mikoto. “Ah.” His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, “I should amend that,” He smiled around the cigarette, “ _High schooler_.”

Mikoto’s eyes were like a labyrinth: cloudy, the sort of place Kusanagi wanted to lose himself. Still, Kusanagi knew without asking that Mikoto had started to enjoy Totsuka— well, as much as he enjoyed anyone— he could tell by the way his eyes softened. 

Mikoto shrugged up one of his shoulders, slow and lazy, “Yeah.”

“I won’t be around to smuggle cigarettes in for you,” Kusanagi sighed. The smoke burned at his lungs.

Mikoto’s voice came out gruff, “No one’s making you leave.” He didn’t say it rudely, he said it like a fact. Like he could’ve been talking about the weather.

Kusanagi blinked: once and then twice. Mikoto reached over and pulled the cigarette out from between Kusanagi’s lips. He brought it to his own mouth and took a long drag. Kusanagi stared down at his own hands.

Mikoto’s words escaped with a rush of smoke, “You always bring cheap shit anyway.”

Kusanagi laughed, “Blame my uncle.” 

A pair of footsteps crunching through newspaper sounded to their right. Totsuka stood there with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He waved at them.

Kusanagi rolled his eyes, “You took your time, middle schooler.”

“All good things take time, Kusanagi!” Totsuka bounced up on the balls of his feet. He plopped his bag down next to them, “You guys are out of class early.”

“No shit,” Mikoto flicked the butt of the cigarette down to the ground. He rubbed the toe of his shoe against it. “We skipped.”

Totsuka wiggled his way up against Mikoto’s other side, “Let me know next time and I can—“

“You’ll become a delinquent like Mikoto?” Kusanagi leaned against Mikoto’s shoulder, “Wait until after I graduate to throw your life away on this guy.” 

Totsuka reached out and poked his finger against Kusanagi’s cheek, “You don’t mean that!”

“ _Totsuka >/I>,” Kusanagi batted his hand away with a smug little smile on his mouth, “You think you have me all figured out?”_

__

__

“Uh, _yeah_ , but don’t worry about it,” Totsuka smiled back at him, close-lipped with his head tipped to the side, “I like you.” 

“At least I have your approval,” Kusanagi slouched back with a put-upon sigh. Mikoto clapped a hand against his arm. 

Off to the distance he heard a series of metallic clicking. A voice beeped out something that sounded dangerously close to _die_. Kusanagi twisted around to see a small droid with a big green bin on its back. It skewered up a piece of wayward litter on a metal claw and deposited it into the bin. Kusanagi clicked his tongue at the janitorial droid that had started loitering around the high school. He wondered if the thing got lost there or if it was part of some new cleaning program or something. Regardless, the little sucker could be aggressive. Kusanagi thought of the ugly bruise it’d smacked onto Totsuka’s arm. 

Kusanagi stood up: “Well, guys, that’s our cue to leave.”

Totsuka popped up to his feet. He shoved a hand down toward Mikoto, “C’mon, King.”

Mikoto stretched up, slowly showing off the sinewy leanness of his body— almost like a lazy housecat. “Stop calling me that,” he yawned and showed off the points of his teeth, “I’m not...” he grumbled out a huff, _“That.”_

“Yet!” Totsuka agreed with a jaunty pop in his step. Mikoto smacked the back of his head. Totsuka laughed and waved him off.

Kusanagi hummed low under his breath, “ _Yet_ ,” He agreed just to be a pain in the ass.

When they reached Homra, the closed sign greeted them first. Kusanagi stretched up onto his tiptoes for the spare key hidden up on the top of the doorframe. He twisted the knob open. The lights were all turned off other than one lamp nestled in the corner. A flick of the lightswitch remedied that. Kusanagi sighed when he took in the fine, grainy coating of _dust_ everywhere.

Totsuka dropped his bag down on the old, overstuffed sofa, “Is your uncle getting worse? I can come around more and help.”

Kusanagi slid behind the bar and grabbed a dishrag. He nodded toward Totsuka, “He’ll appreciate the offer.” He scrubbed the rag across the countertop. After he finished, he sighed at his reflection in the granite: cloudy with a big ugly scratch across his face. He tossed the rag back under the sink.

Mikoto jerked his chin toward the direction of the stairs leading to the bedrooms. “Wanna go upstairs?” 

Kusanagi pressed his palms against the counter, a smile played at the corners of his mouth, “Something you have in mind, Mikoto?”

Mikoto rolled his shoulders back, “Whatever you guys want.” 

“I want a lot of things,” Totsuka slumped half over the bar, “There’s a lot I want to try too.” He had a look on his face, awfully sauve for a damn _middle schooler._

“You both keep talking about all hooking up,” Mikoto sighed, “So, let’s go do it.”

Kusanagi hooked his finger into the ugly, cheap tie of Totsuka’s uniform. He leaned across the bar and pulled Totsuka in close. When their mouth touched, Totsuka let out a happy little sigh. One of his hands fisted against the collar of Kusanagi’s jacket.

Totsuka barely had any idea how to kiss, he kept trying to shove his tongue gods-know-where. Still, he tasted sweet like yuzu and peaches. Felt warm and soft. Kusanagi tried to guide him into a _proper_ kiss— the type he’d learned from a girl— Michiko? Aiko? He couldn’t remember her name— back in 8th grade. 

Totsuka’s fingers tightened against him. Unlike Mikoto, he at least happened to be a quick study. His tongue darted against Kusanagi’s lip, and this time he did it _right_. The slide of his mouth felt good. Kusanagi’s teeth gently closed on his lower lip. Totsuka gasped with delighted surprise. 

Kusanagi withdrew with a laugh, “Hey, not bad, kid.” 

Totsuka beamed at him. Mikoto grumbled out a gruff sound. Kusanangi bet if he looked over he’d see him starting to pitch a tent anyway. Mikoto had _always_ been easy.

Mikoto shoved his hands into his pockets, “Come on. We gonna do this or not?”

“You know I didn’t buy condoms or anything,” Kusanagi blew out a frustrated breath, “There’s a limit to what we’re gonna be able to do.” 

Totsuka’s mouth pinched together, “We don’t need—“

Kusanagi didn’t _mean_ to laugh at him, but he couldn’t help it. Luckily Totsuka didn’t seem to really care. “Trust me— You’ll change your mind about that.” 

All things considered, their threeway circle jerk shouldn’t have left as big of an impression on Kusanagi as did. But it did and it became hard to want anything else afterward.

* * *

At eighteen, during a particularly warm day in March, Kusanagi fell in love. 

Mikoto slumped down onto the bench next to Kusanagi. He offered his yakitori out toward Mikoto. His eyes drifted toward the bright red truck. Worst case, he’d go back up to the vendor and get another one. Mikoto shook his head and placed a box in between them.

“That’s cute,” Kusanagi gestured to the plain black bento box, “Is it from a girl?”

“No.”

“Mmm, a new hobby of Totsuka’s then,” Kusanagi rubbed his palms together, “Well open it up! Let’s see how he did.” 

Mikoto sighed and lifted off the lid. It was cute: two little rice balls seated next to battered pork cutlet and rolled egg. Kusanagi smiled at it. Mikoto took a sip of his strawberry milk, straw held between his teeth. 

“Good for Totsuka,” Kusanagi said before he took a bite of his grilled chicken. The sweet tang of soy sauce flooded his mouth. He balanced the bamboo skewer in between his teeth and pulled open his phone before he could forget. 

Kusanagi typed out a message for Totsuka:

> _Mikoto showed me your bento_

Within a second he saw the three little dots that meant Totsuka had opened it. After a few more seconds Totsuka’s response pinged:

> _Want me to make you one tomorrow too?_

Kusanagi laughed and texted back:

> _Sure— come by Homra and we can do it together._

Kusanagi barely had time to send the message before his phone buzzed with Totsuka’s response:

> _OK!!_

Kusanagi laughed, could just imagine him buzzing with pent up eagerness. Kusanagi wondered if he’d always been such a people pleaser, or if that was reserved purely for Mikoto. Kusanagi’s teeth closed over a leek on the skewer and pulled it into his mouth.

His phone buzzed again from Totsuka:

> _It’s a date!_

Mikoto skewered one of the egg rolls with his chopstick. He hummed low in his throat. Well, at least Totsuka’s bento met the very low bar for his approval. Kusanagi tried to stop the honest, _goofy_ smile from crossing his mouth. His chest felt tight and uncomfortable.

“Mikoto,” Kusanagi cleared his throat.

Mikoto hummed around his straw, “Yeah?”

“I miss you both, ya know,” Kusanagi frowned. He looked down at the skewer clenched in his hand, “When I’m away at school.”

“So come home more often,” Mikoto draped an arm over the back of the bench. Kusanagi settled back against him. 

Kusanangi hummed low in his throat, “I think you might be onto something with that.”

“Good.”

Kusanagi smiled at Mikoto— he tried to keep the expression close-lipped, _sexy_. Still, he felt like his heart had been skewered clean through like the chicken on his kabob. He knew Mikoto could see right through him too which didn’t help. Kusanangi breathed out a slow sigh.

* * *

At twenty years old, Kusanagi’s uncle died. 

Kusanagi tucked his arms against the thick wool of his jacket. The leather of his gloves creaked with how tight he held the umbrella. 

“Hey,” Totsuka’s hand squeezed his arm. 

Kusanagi angled the umbrella toward him. A cold raindrop splattered against his cheek.

“I’m okay,” Totsuka pushed the umbrella back over Kusanagi. He stared up at the ugly grey of the sky, “I like rain.”

“You’ll catch a cold.”

“Maybe,” Totsuka smiled, his shoulder nudged against Kusanagi’s, “But I have you to look after me if I do.” 

Kusanagi sighed, but still nodded. The funeral had been a drab affair. Hell, the estate barely had enough money to cover the plot. Kusanagi’s mom and siblings also happened to all be absent. But they sent their _sincerest condolences_ so that was that. Kusanagi’s fingers tightened.

“I’m taking a break from college for awhile,” Kusanagi said. He jolted when Totsuka’s hand closed over his on the umbrella.

“Because you want to?”

Kusanagi shook his head, “I need to get things in order at the bar.” He could just imagine the state the books would be in. He frowned deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have left, not when his uncle had already been so sick for so long—

“Let me know what you need.” 

“Thank you, Tatara.”

When they reached the bar, it looked _grim_ , paint along the doorway chipped and worn. Kusanagi closed the umbrella, shaking it out before he stepped inside. He’d really have to roll up his shirtsleeves to get the place back to the point where it made money. Tomorrow, he decided, he’d worry about it then.

Mikoto sat at the bar, glass of bourbon cradled in a hand. _Kentucky straight_. Kusanagi appreciated him drinking the cheap shit.

Water dripped down from Totsuka’s hair and splattered against the floor. Mikoto turned toward them.

“Did you swim?”

“Hm? Oh,” a laugh bubbled up from Totsuka’s mouth, “No, it started to rain— good weather for a funeral.”

Kusanagi nodded and collapsed down onto a bar stool next to Mikoto. “The priest said some nice words. You would’ve been bored.” He picked up the bottle and took a drink straight from the neck. The sweet graininess of the alcohol burned at his throat.

Mikoto clapped a hand against his back. Kusanagi gave him a grateful, albeit watery, smile. Mikoto’s hand settled against the small of his back. 

“Y’know, now that I gotta be responsible, I can’t have you drinking here underage,” Kusanagi told him anyway. He stared down into the bottom of the bottle, “Bad for business.”

Mikoto let out an answering grunt, more for Kusanangi’s benefit than an indication he’d actually listen. They both knew he wouldn’t. Totsuka sat down next to Kusanangi’s other side. He leaned up close and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Kusanagi closed his eyes and breathed in. It felt so _right_ , so familiar to be wrapped up in their arms.

He felt foolish and lovesick when realized he only wanted _this_ : to run his bar with the two them. He felt like he could be happy, if everything just stayed like this.

He hoped they felt the same way, but he couldn’t find the words to ask them.


	2. Kneel

“King.” 

Mikoto had heard Totsuka say the name a hundred times before, but this time it felt... _different_. Mikoto didn’t know if he should characterize it as good or bad. Mikoto settled for tipping his head back. Maybe he looked regal, maybe he looked like a circus tiger forced into a small cage— he didn’t really know anything anymore. 

Kusanagi looked at him, hard, like he wanted to know if he was real or something. It felt absurd, considering how long they’d known each other. 

“Quit gawking,” Mikoto’s voice came out gruff. 

Kusanagi cleared his throat. “You‘ll need to select clansmen,” Kusanagi spoke so softly, softer than Mikoto had ever heard him. 

“You know I’d be honored, King!” Totsuka twisted around to face Kusanagi, “You will too, right?”

Kusanagi nodded, “Of course— I thought it went without saying.” 

Mikoto held his hands out toward them. The brilliant, fuschia flames licked at his palms. The cramped room felt swelteringly hot already. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Mikoto’s face. They both stared at him again, still with wide-eyed shock— even damn Totsuka who’d predicted the whole thing. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” Totsuka said, Mikoto wondered whose benefit he said it for. Maybe for all three of them, Mikoto realized.

“I know it will,” Kusanagi pushed his sweaty bangs back off his forehead.

“Alright! Count of three?” Totsuka’s palm hesitated next to Mikoto’s. Mikoto didn’t know what to think about the trembling in his hand: maybe nerves, maybe the animal part of his hindbrain that knew to fear fire.

Kusanagi nodded, “Sure thing. _One.”_

“Two,” The tip of Totsuka’s tongue poked out between his lips. 

Mikoto felt the rumble in his chest, quiet and gruff, before he realized he’d answered: “Three.” 

They took his hands at the same time. Mikoto didn’t really know what he should expect— being a King hadn’t come with anything close to a guidebook; just powers he could feel boiling inside him. Against his blisteringly hot hands, their palms felt cool, _gentle—_ he could feel the calluses on Totsuka’s palm from his experiments with woodworking, the soft _sureness_ of Kusanagi’s grip.

Mikoto’s aura expanded around the three of them: like a kaleidoscope of purples and pinks and reds. 

“Does it burn?” Mikoto asked past the dryness of his mouth. He could imagine their hands splitting open into a mess of charred skin and ash. Sweat dripped along his jawline.

Totsuka smiled and squeezed his hand, “Don’t worry so much!” He looked over to Kusanagi who nodded, “We’re both alright— I barely feel a thing!”

Mikoto looked at their hands, each joined with one of his; and yes, other than being a bit pinked from heat they both looked fine. He wondered if he should let go, but couldn’t make himself do it just yet. Totsuka’s other hand came up to rest against the back of his. 

“Mikoto,” Kusanagi stared at him through the limp strands of his blond bangs, “You’ll make a good king.”

A wide smile stretched across Totsuka’s mouth, “The very best!” 

Mikoto tugged them in toward his chest. They both leaned against him and it should’ve been too warm to have a body pressed up against either of his sides— instead, it felt... _peaceful_ , almost. He slackened his grip on their hands, but neither of them let go. In fact, Kusanagi’s fingers tightened around his. Mikoto wanted to melt into the embrace, to fade away into a pile of nothingness and ash—

Mikoto took a step backward from them. He felt his aura draw back into himself— almost like tucking away pocket change or something; not like he’d stitched a live bomb into his stomach. 

“Should we celebrate?” Totsuka asked. His eyes looked bright and earnest. It reminded Mikoto of when he’d been an idiot kid stuck in the hospital. 

Kusanagi rolled his eyes, “Your years-long obsession being proven correct? Or something else?” He exhaled sharply, “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Let’s not rush it,” Mikoto’s shoulders slumped forward. His fingers ached for a cigarette.

Totsuka didn’t really seem deterred. He nodded once to himself, “We can go get dinner at least. Something nice, _fancy_.” 

“Sure,” Kusanagi nodded, “I’ll pick up the bill.”

* * *

Once they were all seated in the restaurant, in a small private room that afforded some privacy, Kusanagi cleared his throat. 

“We need to talk about the Rengokusha.”

Mikoto felt something hot bubbling under his skin. He clenched one of his hands into a fist. Mikoto shook his head and grumbled against the rim of his glass— Totsuka had ordered him something carbonated that tasted mildly like strawberries. 

Kusanagi sighed and continued to speak, “Their clansmen still have some powers. They aren’t gonna be too happy a new red king has been chosen.” 

Mikoto exhaled stiffly. Totsuka reached over and clapped a hand against his shoulder. Mikoto’s eyes narrowed minutely. Totsuka ended up laughing at him.

“Don’t worry!” Totsuka settled back down on his seat. 

Kusanangi cleared his throat, “Would you want to work with them, Mikoto?”

Mikoto blew out a huff, “What about the two of you?”

Totsuka shook his head, “I mean, the _mafia_? I’ll pass.” Kusanagi nodded his assent, his hands neatly folded on the table in front of him.

“Then we won’t,” Mikoto decided. 

“Well, in that case we’re going to need to pick a new name for our clam.” 

“Homra,” Totsuka offered up. He balanced his cheek in the palm of his hand. “Don’t you think?”

Kusanagi nodded, “It’s a fine choice.” A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

The two of them looked bright, _hopeful—_ eager to follow Mikoto straight into the burning depths of hell. Mikoto’s nails dug into the palm of his head. He could feel fire thrumming in his veins, the same fire he’d fucking _given_ to the two of them. His throat grew dry and tasted sour. 

Totsuka twisted around to smile at him too, wide and expectant: “King?”

“Sure,” Mikoto took another sip of his drink. 

“You know, it’s gonna be dicey while there’s only three of us,” Kusanagi said. He clicked his tongue, _“Dangerous.”_

“A clan of three,” Totsuka agreed, although he sounded far too wistful and dreamy; like he’d missed the obvious warning in Kusanagi’s voice.

Mikoto tipped his head back.He wondered if he should’ve gone at it alone: then again, neither of them would’ve ever accepted that answer. He breathed out a slow sigh. His whole body felt too hot, made him feel frustrated and _exhausted—_

“People are going to want to get close to you now, Mikoto,” Kusanagi frowned, “We’ll need to be careful who we let in.”

Mikoto stifled a yawn against his palm. Totsuka reached across the table and poked a finger against his cheek. Kusanagi just sighed and took a drink of his sake. 

Totsuka smiled at Mikoto with warm eyes: “You’re tired of being a King already?” 

Mikoto shrugged up a shoulder, “I guess.” 

Kusanagi and Totsuka shared a _look_ : something hopeful and eager and fond. Mikoto could imagine Kusanagi up on his PDA until all hours of the night researching about kings, clans, the mafia. He tried not to imagine what would happen to _them_ if the big, ugly sword that hung over him decided to fall— Mikoto didn’t want to grimace, so he pretended to yawn again instead.

Kusanangi’s mouth pinched into a tight line, “Mikoto...”

Totsuka bumped his knuckles against Mikoto’s shoulder, “We’ll figure it out together!”

Mikoto sighed and waved both of them off.

He didn’t really mean to, but as soon as they got back to the bar he passed out on the couch.

* * *

The next morning they went to the beach.

Pebbles and sand dug into the sole of Mikoto’s shoes. The summer sun beat down on them. Luckily, this ugly, rocky alcove wasn’t the sort of spot to be frequented by swimmers. Mikoto flicked his partially finished cigarette down into the harsh waves. Sweat dripped down his forehead.

He looked to where Kusanagi and Totsuka practiced. Mikoto wondered if being a clansmen was supposed to be easy— like they’d get a fancy PDA download of all their new abilities or something. Because _this_ seemed way too fucking hard. They’d been trying to practice for almost an hour now, but nothing had happened other than some sparks from Kusanagi’s fingertips. 

Kusanagi flipped open his lighter. He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. His eyes widened. He held the lighter out in front of him and suddenly the flame _multiplied._ Three small sparks shot from the lighter. They sizzled when they hit the water. 

Totsuka squinted his eyes at the lighter. _Maybe_ the flame flickered. Mikoto couldn’t fully tell from his distance. 

Totsuka yawned rather dramatically, “Oh well!”

Totsuka shrugged and collapsed down next to Mikoto. He tugged the collar of his shirt up over his head. Mikoto grunted toward him. Totsuka laughed and shook his head.

“We have time to figure it out,” Kusanagi said before he took another drag of the cigarette.

Totsuka nodded, “Yup!”

Kusanagi knelt down next to them. His eyes widened when he looked at Totsuka’s back. His fingertip stroked along his left shoulder blade. Totsuka frowned deeply with a little furrow pulling between his brows.

“What is it?” Totsuka jerked his chin to the side to try and see. 

“Flames.” 

“Really?” Totsuka tried to strain to get a look at it, “Like a clan mark or something?” 

“Something like that,” Mikoto agreed. He plucked the cigarette from Kusanagi’s hand and took a long drag. 

“Here,” Kusanagi shrugged out of his shirt too, fabric clinging to his neck with sweat. “I probably have one too, Totsuka.”

Totsuka clambered over to him. He tugged on Kusanagi’s shoulder to twist him around. He breathed out a slow, stilted breath when he looked at the mark on his right shoulder blade. His fingertips stroked down along Kusanagi’s warm skin.

“Wow! It’s beautiful,” Totsuka leaned closer and pressed a kiss against the mark. 

Mikoto jerked his gaze to the side. Something about leaving such a permanent mark on their bodies made his chest tighten. No matter where they went, they would always be _his_. He didn’t know if it excited or terrified him. His stomach rolled dangerously. Under his skin, he could feel fire yearning to burn through him.

* * *

The trip back to bar Homra felt like it took hours.

Smelling like brine from the ocean, and with tiny little pebbles caught in their socks, they tumbled into the bedroom together: the same one they’d been coming back to since they were kids— with the same too small bed and itchy sheets. 

Kusanagi slid behind Mikoto’s back, hands stroking along his front. He leaned close, teeth nipping against his earlobe. Totsuka pressed up against his front.

“Hey, _King_ ,” Totsuka dragged the word out, savored the sound of it, “Want us to kneel for you?” He stretched up onto his tiptoes and pressed a kiss against Mikoto’s jaw. 

Mikoto shook his head, “No, not really.” 

Kusanagi laughed, he hooked his chin over Mikoto’s shoulder. His hands stroked down along his sides and rucked up his shirt. Mikoto let out a quiet exhale. Kusanagai’s fingers skirted along the sliver of bare skin between his shirt hem and waistband. 

“Well then,” Totsuka drawled, “Have you decided what you do want? ‘Cause I have a lot of ideas.” 

Mikoto’s voice rumbled deep in his chest, “I want to watch you together.” 

Kusanagi tugged his shirt up higher, voice whisper-soft against his ear, “Well that’s an easy request.” 

“It’s what I want,” Mikoto’s gaze drifted off to the side. 

Totsuka took a step back. He tugged his shirt up overhead. By the time he’d started to unbutton his pants, he saw Kusanagi sitting on the bed. He pushed his hair back off his forehead before he started unbuttoning his shirt.

Totsuka leaned back toward Mikoto and hooked a finger into the waistband of his pants, “You should take your clothes off at least.”

Mikoto nodded and slipped out of his shirt. He sat down next to the headboard. Kusanagi, who’d somehow manage to pull off all his clothes, scooted closer to him. He slipped off the bed and settled on his knees between Mikoto’s legs. Mikoto grunted out a soft noise and widened his legs to give him room. 

Kusanagi’s fingers closed over the zip tab. He slowly unzipped Mikoto’s pants. Mikoto leaned back, lifting up his hips in an effort to help Kusanagi pull off his pants. Totsuka slipped out of his own pants before he flopped down on the bed next to them. He draped himself over Mikoto’s shoulders. 

“Get up here,” Mikoto gripped Kusanagi’s arm and hauled him up onto the bed with them. Kusanagi let out a soft sigh, but his eyes were crinkled with amusement. 

Totsuka backed up and grinned. He saw Kusanagi fiddling around in the drawer of the bedside table. Kusanagi settled back on his haunches and set an obnoxiously pink colored tube of lube on the bed. Totsuka looked to Mikoto: he lounged back against the headboard. He looked regal and strong and unbelievably handsome.

Totsuka settled down on his knees across from Kusanagi. Kusanagi’s body always looked lean and whipcord strong. Totsuka cradled his jaw against his hand. Kusanagi smiled, close-lipped and small. The sort of look he only gave to people he really liked. Kusanagi’s fingers stroked down along his back— only barely touching him, but enough for Totsuka to feel the stickiness of lube. 

Kusanagi’s hand cupped his flank, middle finger circling against him. Totsuka pressed his hips back. He moaned as the finger started to push inside. Totsuka pulled Kusanagi into a kiss. He felt too eager, sloppy almost— but Kusanagi didn’t seem to care, he only ended up pumping his finger faster. 

Kusanagi tasted like wine and fire and like every dream Totsuka had ever had. He wanted to chase him to the ends of the earth, to follow him and never ever let go. Totsuka moaned against his mouth when a second finger pushed its way inside him. Totsuka drew away from him to sharply inhale.

Totsuka looked to the side where Mikoto still slouched against the headboard. He would’ve seemed bored if not for the heat in his gaze and the hardness between his legs.

When Mikoto spoke his voice came out deep and gravelly, “Keep going.” 

Mikoto took himself in a hand and gave himself a slow, languid stroke. Kusanagi’s breath caught in his throat and Totsuka felt all his blood rushing down to his hips. He let out a painfully eager groan. Kusanagi’s fingers crooked inside him and he really worried he’d faint. Kusanagi seemed desperate too though, with his hair mussed and sweaty. His fingers withdrew too quick and Totsuka missed them immediately.

“Mikoto—“

“—King.” 

Mikoto gave himself another pump, “Keep going,” he repeated.

Kusanagi collapsed back. Overhead Totsuka heard the steady thrum of the AC unit kicking on. He followed him down, scooting down toward his pelvis. His mouth traced down along the jut of Kusanagi’s hipbone. His skin tasted salty with sweat. Totsuka’s teeth playfully nipped at the inside of his thigh. Kusanagi let out a soft groan. His toes curled against the sheets. 

The flat of Totsuka’s tongue dragged along his perineum. Kusanagi’s breath rattled in his throat in an effort not to give away his desperation. Totsuka understood, hell, he felt _giddy_ too: like when he’d been a kid and barely had any idea what to do. Totsuka’s tongue pressed against the rim of his ass.

Kusanagi tasted like the awful strawberry lube Totsuka had bought Mikoto as a joke. Totsuka smiled against him and pushed his tongue inside properly. Kusanagi’s quiet moan rumbled in his chest. Totsuka felt an ache between his own legs. He’d always liked being good at things. Kusanagi had a way of making him feel like he was the best, even though he’d had plenty of other partners. Totsuka removed his tongue and scooted up. 

Totsuka settled between Kusanagi’s hips, his legs coming to bracket around him. Kusanagi reached a hand down between them. His fingers circled around Totsuka’s shaft. Totsuka let out a quiet moan. Kusanagi guided him closer, _closer_ , until his tip started to push inside.

Totsuka bunched one of his hands up in the sheets. It felt good, like too much and not enough all at the same time. Kusanagi’s hand closed over the nape of his neck and tugged his head down close. Totsuka’s breath escaped with a tremble. With their foreheads nearly touching, it felt like they breathed the same air.

When Totsuka pressed all the way inside, Kusanagi’s fingers gave a small tug to the baby-fine hairs on the back of his neck. Kusanagi’s eyes flickered to the side, hazy and hooded low.

“Mikoto?” Kusanagi said the name like it was a prayer.

Mikoto came closer. His hand closed on Totsuka’s hip, so sure and blisteringly hot. Totsuka adjusted his stance, opening his legs up wider. Mikoto’s hips settled behind his. 

Totsuka braced himself, taking one of Kusanagi's hands in his. He tangled their fingers together, pressing Kusanagi’s hand up over his head. Kusanagi tipped his head back and smiled at him. He squeezed his hand.

“Are you ready, Totsuka?” Kusanagi asked. 

Totsuka smiled back. “Always! You know that,” he pressed a quick kiss against his mouth. 

Mikoto pressed up against him. Totsuka let out a moan. It felt wonderful to have Mikoto behind him and Kusanagi pressed against his front. It should’ve been way too hot, uncomfortable even, but he felt _perfect_. Arousal thrummed through his veins. He fought the urge to shove his hips back harder against Mikoto or thrust into Kusanagi.

Mikoto settled against him, his hands tight on Totsuka’s hips. He moved his hips back, then forward. Slower than normal, more tentative— it almost reminded Totsuka of how it’d been their first time. Then again, in a way it _was_ , because now Mikoto was a king. 

Totsuka breathed out a short, quiet laugh: “Don’t worry, you can go harder—I won’t break,” He shot a smile over his shoulder at Mikoto.

“Mmhmm,” Kusanagi hummed under his breath. He arched his back up, “That sounds rather nice actually.”

Mikoto scoffed out a noise, something soft that sounded fond. “Alright.”

Mikoto started to move again— this time his thrusts were sharper, but still languid. Totsuka let out a moan as he rocked forward against Kusanagi. Kusanagi let out a grunt, hand tightening on Totsuka’s. It felt sinfully good and _right_ : like the three of them belonged together. 

Kusanagi pushed his hips up against his in encouragement. Totsuka dropped his head down to nuzzle against the crook of his neck. Totsuka pressed his hand down between their bodies. He took Kusanagi in hand properly. He gave him a long stroke and got a moan for his efforts. Totsuka tried to match Mikoto’s pace as best he could. 

  


Afterward, with the sheets tangled up around their legs, Kusanagi pulled out a pack of cigarettes from next to the bed. He passed one to Mikoto and placed another between his lips. Kusanagi frowned and dug through the bedside drawer. 

Mikoto snapped his fingers, one brilliant flame settling above his thumb. He lit the cigarette and flicked his hand to put the flame out. Kusanagi blinked at him. 

“C’mere,” Mikoto’s hand closed on Kusanagi’s shoulder. He tugged him closer and snapped his fingers against the tip of the cigarette.

Kusanagi inhaled deeply, “That's quite the party trick, Mikoto.” When he exhaled smoke spilled from his mouth.

Totsuka propped himself up on his elbows. He leaned over and plucked the cigarette out of Kusanagi’s mouth. He took a long drag. The smoke burned at his lungs and Totsuka ended up coughing. He rubbed at his watery eyes and held the cigarette back out to Kusanagi. He coughed against his palm again.

“We should talk about your school,” Kusanagi waved the cigarette in Totsuka’s direction, “It’s going to be dangerous for you to keep attending.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.”

“Tatara,” Kusanagi sighed.

“Izumo,” Totsuka said back to him, just to make him work for it. Kusanagi’s frown deepened. 

“Hey,” Mikoto blew out a plume of smoke. Totsuka twisted around to really _look_ at him. Mikoto stared up at the ceiling, “Do whatever you want.” 

Kusanagi clicked his tongue, “ _Mikoto_.”

“Ah, it’s alright!” Totsuka waved his hand back and forth, “ _Well_ , It sounds like I’m going to have a lot of free time! You know, I started practicing photography the other day—”

Totsuka didn’t even really remember his own words, just how undeniably _right_ it felt to have all three of them gathered up together. Especially after their King’s coronation. Totsuka smiled to himself: he knew that no matter what happened, the three of them would get through it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for everyone who’s taken the time to leave kudos or read so far! :) I hope you’ve been enjoying.


	3. Kindergarten

Yata _normally_ burst through doors without really thinking about it— but today had to be different. Because today, Anna had a fever and couldn’t be disturbed. He placed the tupperware, full of rice gruel, by her door. He made a mental note to tell Kusanagi or Totsuka he left it there. Yata kicked off his shoes and tiptoed on socked feet back downstairs. 

He saw Kusanagi and Totsuka behind the bar together. Which, _well_ , wasn’t _that_ weird. But they were pressed really close together: the small of Kusanagi’s back against the bar, his thumb hooked into one of Totsuka’s belt loops on the back of his pants to hold him close. It took Yata painfully long to realize what he _heard_. Wet. Soft. Slick. 

_Kissing_.

A bright flush burned across his ears. Yata’s shoes tumbled out of his arms. He fumbled to catch them and breathed out a short sigh of relief when he did. He froze then, heart pounding in his chest. 

First he thought: does Mikoto know? Then he felt like an idiot. Because did that _really_ matter? Well, part of Yata still thought it did. After all, they were his clansmen and— it took painfully long for him to realize that didn’t make sense. 

Yata sulked quietly back toward the stairs where they couldn't see him. He cleared his throat— hopefully loud enough they could hear but not enough to bug Anna upstairs.

“Hey, Mr. Kusanagi, I’m gonna head home,” Yata puffed out his chest. He hoped the blush burning across his cheeks didn’t give him away as he walked out. 

Kusanagi and Totsuka had separated from each other: Kusanagi polishing a glass and Totsuka fiddling with one of the bonsai plants he’d been trying to propagate. In fact, they looked so normal Yata wondered if he’d imagined the kiss before.

“Alright, we’ll see you tomorrow,” Kusanagi said, “Be careful on your way home.” 

“Yeah, Yeah, sure thing!” Yata shoved a thumbs up toward them before he headed out the door.

The cold from the sidewalk seeped up through Yata’s socks. He blinked, stupidly wondering why he felt the cold. Then he remembered the shoes cradled under his arm. Yata hastily tugged his shoes back on and headed home.

* * *

The next day, Yata tried _not_ to think about what he’d seen the day before. It wasn’t that weird for bros to accidentally end up fooling around or something, a flush burned at the tips of his ears anyway. Then again, he’d done a great job of not jumping Fushimi’s bones so far, so how common could it _really_ be.

Now that he thought about, the two of them did seem awfully close. Sometimes they’d just look in each other’s eyes and shit like that. Yata scratched at the back of his neck, but he’d also seen Totsuka napping with his head in Mikoto’s lap or Kusanagi throwing an arm around his shoulders. But that was all _normal_ for them. Yata frowned deeply. 

Yata looked at Mikoto. _Hard_. Really hard. Like if he had laser vision it would’ve seared right through him. Yata cleared his throat. Mikoto barely spared a glance toward him.

“Hey,” Yata cleared his throat again. “I wanna ask you something if you got time.”

Mikoto took a drag of the cigarette smouldering between his fingers. _“Shoot_ ,” smoke spilled out of his mouth.

Yata swallowed. “Totsuka and Kusanagi,” Yata rubbed at the back of his neck, “They friendly or somethin’?” He felt pretty dumb the instant he said it. 

Mikoto slouched back against the couch, “You could say that.” He inhaled deeply. 

“Oh.” Yata blinked once, then twice. He stared down at his shoes, “Like how friendly?”

Yata’s face flushed: he cursed himself for being so... _weird_ about it. He’d just never ever expected it. He figured it had to be like walking in on his parents having sex. _That_ thought made Yata’s entire face blanch a shade of green. 

“Ask them yourself,” Mikoto jerked his chin over toward where Totsuka and Kusanagi were both apparently coming down the stairs.

Yata pulled his beanie down tightly over his ears— as though that would hide the flush burning across his face. “Nah, forget it.” 

“Something bothering you, Yata?” Kusanagi asked as he took his place behind the bar. He looked normal, other than his necktie being tied a bit tighter than usual. Yata’s mouth dried up when he saw the fucking _bruise_ it didn’t quite cover. It’s a hickey. A fucking _hickey,_ he realized with shock. 

“N-nope! I’m great!” 

“Are you sure?” Totsuka slid into one of the bar stools. He twirled around to face him fully. He certainly looked concerned with a furrow pulling between his eyebrows, “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”

“Yup! _So_ great,” Yata held one of his thumbs up, “I gotta go see Saruhiko.”

Yata ran out of the bar, like a coward, slamming the door behind him. Outside, the cold air did little for the ugly blush still burning across his face. He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. He tossed his skateboard down onto the ground and took off. 

Over the next hour, Yata sent four texts and made four times as many calls:

> _Hey! I gotta ask you something!_
> 
> _Hey, man, pick up your damn PDA_
> 
> _C’mon, where are you?_
> 
> _Saruhiko?_

Yata gave up when Fushimi refused to answer his PDA the third time in a row of him calling after his last text. He popped off his skateboard, back in front of bar Homra. The sun hung low around the buildings, Yata tried to be excited about that: crazier shit always happened at night anyway.

Yata pushed back through the door. His eyes widened at the empty couch. Then his face scrunched up. No one was there other than Kamamoto, who sat at the bar with a half-empty beer. Yata rapped his knuckles against his shoulder. 

Kamamoto twisted around to look at him, “Huh?”

“Hey, where’d Mr. Mikoto go?” Yata’s heel pressed on the back of the skateboard, flipping it up and into his waiting palm. 

“A bathhouse with Kusanagi and Totsuka.”

“W-wait—“ Yata cleared his throat, “Didn’t they want the clan to come?” He thought stupidly how it’d be like a _bonding experience_ — those sorts of things had to be good for team morale, it wouldn’t make sense for the three of them to go alone.

“Nah,” Kamamoto took a swig of his beer, “Just the three of them.” 

“Well, which one did they go to?” Yata coughed into the side of his hand. Certainly plenty of bathhouses didn’t serve people with tattoos anyway, so it’s not like they could have all that many choices. He contemplated whipping out his PDA and trying to look it up.

“Didn’t check—why?” 

Yata shoved his hands deep into his pockets and jerked his chin to the side, “I’m just askin’.”

“Okay.”

* * *

Mikoto slouched backward. The plastic stool dug into the back of his thighs. The pitter-patter of lukewarm water from the shower splashed next to his feet. Kusanagi’s arms draped around his shoulders. The damp edges of his hair tickled Mikoto’s cheek.

Totsuka dropped down onto his knees in front of him, he dragged a wet washcloth down along Mikoto’s leg. “King,” Totsuka said it like he didn’t expect a response, just wanted an excuse to say it.

Mikoto scoffed out a quiet, gruff laugh. Kusanagi pressed a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. His hands massaged through Mikoto’s hair. Mikoto leaned back into his ministrations. Kusanagi’s nails dug against his scalp. Mikoto let out a short sigh. 

Totsuka tipped his head up and scooted between Mikoto’s legs. The washcloth lingered on Mikoto’s thigh and Totsuka strained to press a quick kiss against his mouth. Mikoto huffed out a short, quiet noise. 

Kusanagi rinsed the shampoo and soap out of Mikoto’s hair. He could feel his hair clinging wetly against his forehead and neck. Kusansagi’s hand dragged through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead. Mikoto looked down at Totsuka: he had a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. 

Mikoto stood up from the stool. His calves ached at the movement. “C’mon,” Mikoto jerked his chin toward the doorway.

He headed out toward the bath. He heard Totsuka wolf-whistle loudly, which only made him sigh. They’d both seem him naked enough throughout the years that it’s not like they saw anything new. 

Outside, the night air felt cool on his warm skin. Mikoto breathed out a slow exhale. Steam wafted up from the water of the bath. Mikoto eyed up the tall, thatched fence that afforded them a degree of privacy. It wasn’t like any of them had the luxury of going wherever they wanted these days.

Mikoto stepped into the bath, the burning water biting at the skin of his calves. He sat down, water coming to rest along his collarbone. 

“Decent weather tonight,” Kusanagi said.

Kusanagi wrung water out of his hair with a small towel. He sat down on the edge of the bath. His blond bangs looked dark and flopped limply across his forehead. Totsuka came out next, stretching up onto his tiptoes and yawning. 

Mikoto closed his eyes and slouched backward, “It’s hot.” He lifted his arms out of the water, placing them up on the ledge. 

Totsuka inhaled sharply when he poked his toe in. He twisted toward Kusanagi, “King’s right. It’s boiling.”

Mikoto peeled one of his eyes open to see Kusanagi holding up three fingers. He dropped his ring finger. Totsuka nodded, face grim with determination. Kusanagi put down his middle finger. When the final finger dropped they both slipped into the hot water.

A gruff laugh rumbled softly in Mikoto’s throat, “C’mere.” 

Totsuka tucked himself up against Mikoto’s left side. Totsuka laid his head against his shoulder. Kusanagi slid against his right side. He dropped his hand down onto the back of Kusanangi’s neck. 

Mikoto stroked his fingers through Kusanangi’s hair. He leaned over and pressed his nose against the side of his head. He inhaled deeply: Kusanangi’s hair smelt like mint from the shampoo he’d used. Totsuka laughed softly, the noise rumbling against Mikoto’s chest.

“Try and behave yourself,” Kusanangi said, palm pressing firmly against Mikoto’s chest.

Totsuka hummed, his breath warm against Mikoto’s shoulder, “I could fall asleep here.”

“Don’t,” Kusanagi rolled his eyes, “Unless you want to end up drowning.” Mikoto’s fingers worked through a knot in the wet hair at the base of his neck. 

Totsuka laughed and splashed at him, “It’ll be alright! King’s got me.” He pressed a kiss against Mikoto’s collarbone before he set his head back down, “Don’t you?”

“I guess,” Mikoto grunted. Totsuka smiled, so apparently that answer satisfied him enough.

Kusanagi gave up and settled back against the warm weight of Mikoto’s arm. Mikoto stared up at the sky: at the few stars not drowned out by the city lights. His eyelids felt heavy. Mikoto tipped his head back and closed his eyes again. 

After a moment, he felt Totsuka’s breathing deepen, a soft snore leaving his mouth. The corner of Mikoto’s mouth quirked up. He wrapped his arm tightly around Totsuka.

It felt... _nice_. Domestic and _normal_. Mikoto didn’t even really feel surprised by the thought. He felt like a house cat who’d grown fat on milk. A deep longing panged in Mikoto’s gut anyway.

“Don’t fall asleep too,” Kusanagi sighed next to him. 

Mikoto nodded before he let his head lull back again. A slow smile stretched across his mouth. His fingertips stroked along the soft skin of Totsuka’s bicep. 

“You know I don’t like taking orders,” Mikoto grunted.

“I am _very_ aware of that, ya,” Kusanangi said, but he sounded resigned and fond.

Mikoto’s mouth split open into a sleepy grin. A low, answering hum rumbled in his throat. He _did_ end up falling asleep, but Kusanangi woke him up after a few minutes.

* * *

It turned out to not be such an action packed night. In fact, absolutely _nothing_ happened. Which gave Yata ample opportunity to try and figure out what the fuck was going on between Kusanagi and Totsuka. Yata folded his arms up above his head, laying across one of the booths tucked in a back corner of bar Homra. 

Yata didn’t even realize when his eyes slipped close and he fell asleep. Hell, when Kamamoto left, Yata didn’t even hear it. 

But then the door creaked open. Yata squinted past sleep-crusted vision. He could see the silhouettes of three bodies, but it took him embarrassingly long to recognize them: Kusanagi. Totsuka. _Mikoto_. 

Yata fumbled to try and sit up but then he really looked at them. They were all standing so close together. Then, Totsuka jumped up into Mikoto’s arms, his legs closing tightly around his waist. Yata collapsed off the booth, tumbling onto his ass on the floor under the table. At the same time, Kusanagi shut the door and flicked on the dim, amber lights. 

Yata didn’t know what to do. He knew he should probably say _something_ , announce his presence— hell, _anything—_ but he couldn’t make any words come out of his mouth, not even a _squeak_. 

The other three didn’t seem to have any damn clue Yata was there. Mikoto sat down on the couch and Totsuka moved to straddle his hips. Kusanagi walked closer to them with a cigarette balanced between his lips. He leaned down and said something to them, voice quiet enough Yata couldn’t hear the exact words.

Mikoto reached up and plucked the cigarette out of Kusanagi’s mouth. Totsuka grinned up at him. Mikoto placed the cigarette between his lips and grabbed onto Kusanagi’s forearm. Kusanangi sighed and allowed himself to be tugged onto the couch with them. He pressed against Mikoto’s side. 

Totsuka leaned over toward Kusanagi. His hand threaded through Kusanagi’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. Mikoto exhaled sharply, smoke pouring out from his mouth. He flicked the cigarette down to the ground and it exploded into a brilliant fuschia flame. He leaned up and pressed something that certainly looked like a kiss against Kusanagi’s neck, but Totsuka blocked Yata from really being able to tell. 

The full extent of what they were doing really hit Yata then: they were— _were—_ a hot flush burned across his face. Yata scrambled up onto his knees. 

Totsuka noticed him first: his expression _barely_ shifted, like he didn’t really care they’d been caught. “Huh.” 

Yata certainly felt like the situation deserved more than a half-hearted _huh_ so he let out a hysterical sounding squawk. He bumped his head on the underside of the table in his hurry to get out.

“Yata,” Kusanagi jerked upward from the couch to stand, “What are you doing under the table?” His gaze held a barely contained cold fury. 

“Nothing!” Yata rubbed at the back of his neck. He wished his face would stop _burning_. “I fell asleep.” 

Kusanagi’s frown deepened. He let out a sigh and his shoulders slumped, “Are you heading home?”

Yata glanced over for Mikoto’s reaction: he didn’t really seem to care either, hell, Totsuka still sat in his lap. Yata scratched awkwardly at his cheek.

Yata frowned, “Uh, yeah—“

“Mikoto?” A quiet voice sniffled from the stairway.

“Anna,” Kusanagi glanced over to her, “You should still be in bed.” 

Totsuka finally got up from Mikoto’s lap. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” He walked toward Anna and held out one of his hands, “King will be up in a minute, okay?”

Mikoto nodded, which was enough for Anna to slip her hand into Totsuka’s. Totsuka guided her up the stairs without another look back. Kusanagi rubbed a hand down his face. 

“Yata,” Kusanagi said. He looked back over to him, “You look like you have questions.” 

Yata shook his head on impulse. “No! I don’t care that you, _er—_ “

“Care or don’t,” Mikoto flicked another cigarette out of his jacket pocket. He lit it with a snap of his fingers, “That’s your choice.” 

Kusanagi jerked a glance toward him. Yata wondered if he glared at Mikoto or something else. Kusanagi turned back toward him, “If you need, I can—” Mikoto exhaled a plume or smoke. 

“—No, it’s okay! _Really_.”

“Yata.” 

_“Really_ , Mr. Kusanagi.” Yata jerked his thumb back toward the door, “I gotta get home.” 

“Alright,” Kusanagi adjusted his glasses, “Be careful then.”

“Yeah, yeah! Will do,” Yata waves at them before sprinting out the door.

Outside, he exhaled. His breath fogged up in the cold air. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

When he reached the apartment, he saw the bright glare of Fushimi’s computer up in the loft. Fushimi, who had his headphones on but also had his PDA next to him.

“Hey! I called you!” Yata dropped his coat onto the floor and climbed up to the loft.

“Sixteen times,” Fushimi clicked his tongue, “I saw.” He tapped his index phone against where he had his PDA propped up next to his computer. 

Yata sat down next to him cross legged. “Well, you’ll never believe it— I saw Mr. Mikoto and—“

“Totsuka?” Fushimi heaved out a bored sigh, “Or Kusanagi?”

“Huh?” Yata blinked dumbly for a moment. He launched himself toward Fushimi, “You knew!”

Fushimi rolled his eyes and paused his game. He finally pulled off his headphones, “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” 

Fushimi rolled his eyes. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth again. “It was obvious, Misaki. Everyone knows, _well_ ,” Fushimi’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, “Other than you.” 

Yata frowned deeply, “Yeah, _okay_.” He shoved his hands into his lap, “But I saw them— _k—_ “ Yata couldn’t make himself even say the word _kissing_. He felt a bright flush burning across his face. 

“Are you still in Kindergarten, Yata?” Fushimi quirked an eyebrow up toward him. He rolled his eyes and looked back to his computer screen, “Don't you even know the word?”

“I do!” Yata’s hands clutched his knees as he lurched closer to Fushimi, “But it was— was—“ 

“Mikoto’s a king.”

“Our king,” Yata happily pointed out. 

Fushimi exhaled sharply, “It shouldn’t surprise you that he has his choice of partners.” Fushimi shrugged up his shoulder, something darkened in his gaze. 

“Yeah but _both_ of them—“ 

Fushimi scoffed out a noise, “And I’m sure others are waiting in the wings.” 

Yata’s jaw slackened, “Huh? Whaddya mean?” 

“Exactly what I said.”

“Saru!”

“Fine. I’ll spell it out for you: _our_ King is taken,” Fushimi turned back to his game, “And he likely will be for the foreseeable future.” 

Yata frowned. He didn’t have mile long legs like Kusanagi or neat, shiny hair like Totsuka. Objectively he guessed it made sense Mikoto would be interested in good looking guys like them. Yata had just never really considered the type of person Mikoto would want to be with before.

“Huh. Well why do you think it’s _them_?”

Fushimi looked at him. “Isn’t it obvious, Misaki?” A smug little smile curled up the corners of his mouth, “They’re good in bed.”

Yata let out a scandalized noise, like he’d been gutted or something. “H-hey—!”

Fushimi tsked his tongue. “Well, what else did you think it could be? C’mon, Misaki— Get real.” 

“I dunno—!” Yata tried to rake his brain: It couldn’t be something like _power_ , not with Totsuka. And yeah, they were both slim with light hair, but that could also just be a coincidence. They were also tall _, well_ , much taller than Yata at least.

 _“Sex,”_ Fushimi drawled the word out.

Yata dropped his head into his arms and tried not to die of embarrassment. Fushimi clapped his headphones back on and unpaused his game. After a few minutes a _victory_ banner scrolled across the screen. 

Yata chewed at his lower lip, “Hey... So, what would you want in a guy? If you, erm... want guys,” His voice dropped into an awkward, pathetic whisper at the end.

“What type of question is that?” Fushimi clicked his tongue.

“M-mine!” Yata shoved his hands deep into his pockets, “C’mon, answer it.” He jerked his gaze off to the side, “You’re killing me!” 

_“Fine_ ,” Fushimi sighed and pulled his headphones off again, “If I was a King?”

“Well, _sure_ , but also just... y’know, _you_.” 

Fushimi sighed stiffly through his nose, “Oh, I’d want someone I wouldn’t have to teach how to kiss.” 

“W-what? What kinda answer is _that_!”

“ _Mine_ ,” Fushimi parroted Yata’s words from earlier, “Maybe you’re too much a virgin to understand.” 

“N-no! I’m not— _well_ ,” Yata tucked his lower lip into his mouth, “Shit.” 

Fushimi leaned toward him. He grinned and the light from his computer reflected off his teeth. Yata fisted his hands against his knees and leaned closer out of impulse. 

Fushimi’s smile widened and showed off the points of his canines, “Hey, Misaki, you want me to show you how?” 

Yata felt like his mind short-circuited. His breath caught in his throat, he reminded himself to fucking _inhale_. An ugly blush burned across his face. He could do this, he _knew_ he could do this. He leaned forward and slammed his mouth against Fushimi’s— way too hard apparently because Fushimi’s hand fisted in his hair and tugged him backward. 

“Huh—?” The noise slipped out of Yata’s mouth before he could stop it.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” When Fushimi spoke Yata could feel his breath against his mouth.

Fushimi pulled him in close this time, slotting their mouth together _properly—_ in a way that didn’t have their teeth banging together like when Yata did it. His lips felt warm and soft and fucking _amazing_. Yata helplessly, deliriously, wanted to tell him that but he ended up letting out a little moan instead. 

Yata wondered what the hell was happening between them: if it was supposed to be a one time thing or something _more_. His chest tightened with how badly he wanted more, hell, he wanted _everything—_ Yata settled for groaning happily against Fushimi’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sub I watched translated the “-san” honorific as “Mr.” which I thought was very cute when Yata said it. (No idea if that lines up with the English dub or not.)


	4. Kleenex

Kusanagi woke up with a headache pounding against his temples like a damn freight train. He squinted his eyes at the clock on the bedside table. _9:47 am_. 

Kusanagi rolled over and shoved his face roughly into the pillow. He let out a soft groan. His head felt like it’d been shoved with a thousand needles and he could barely breathe through his nose. He thought miserably of the cold Anna had been battling for the last three days. 

A warm body settled next to him and a mug pressed next to his nose. The rich smell of peach syrup and tea wafted up to him.

Kusanagi cleared his throat, but his voice still came out gravelly, “You’ll get sick too, Tatara.” _If he didn’t have it already_ , but Kusanangi doubted Totsuka would be worried about it either way. 

“I’ll be alright,” Totsuka patted his shoulder, “Don’t worry about me.” 

Kusanagi sighed and propped himself up against the headboard. He accepted the warm cup and breathed in the sweet smelling drink. He took a sip and hummed low in his throat. It tasted too sweet with the peaches, but his sinuses felt a bit clearer breathing it in. Totsuka laid down next to him and slung an arm across his waist.

Kusanagi took another drink of the tea. Totsuka felt blissfully warm against his side. Kusanagi shivered and pressed tighter against him on impulse. Totsuka nuzzled closer to him, arm squeezing around him.

Kusanagi shook his head, “You can’t nap here.”

“Hmm?” Totsuka’s head lifted up.

Kusanagi sighed against the rim of his cup, “You're going to end up getting sick too.” 

Totsuka dropped his head back down onto his shoulder, “You worry too much.” 

Kusanagi wanted to keep arguing with him, but he felt exhausted: bones aching and barely able to breath. He settled back down in the bed next to Totsuka. He placed the cup down on the bedside table. Totsuka smiled at him and tucked the blanket up underneath both their chins. 

Kusanagi didn’t mean to, but he ended up falling asleep.

When Kusanagi woke up, his eyelids felt crusty and heavy with sleep. The body next to him felt too warm. Kusanagi twisted over onto his side. He placed the back of his hand against Totsuka’s forehead. He felt blisteringly warm. Kusanagi squinted his eyes, tried to look at the clock past his throbbing headache. This time he could only see ugly, bright red blurs. Totsuka stifled a cough against his chest. 

“Totsuka,” Kusanagi gently shook his shoulder.

Totsuka’s eyes blinked open, heavy and sluggish with sleep. His eyes looked hazy with fever. He sniffled and rubbed the back of his hand against his nose. He curled up closer to Kusanagi and pressed his face up against his neck. 

Kusanagi sighed, “You’re sick.” 

Totsuka gave a pat to his shoulder, words slurring slightly, “It’ll be okay.” 

Kusanagi wanted to argue with him again, but at the current moment, there wouldn’t be any point. Kusanagi settled back down against Totsuka and closed his eyes again. He didn’t really go back to sleep— his consciousness just sort of... drifted. When he woke, the scent of smoke tickled at his nostrils.

Kusanagi forced his eyes open, head tipping to the side: Mikoto stood in the doorway, smouldering cigarette held between his fingers. Mikoto took a drag. 

Kusanagi cleared his throat. He looked down at the sleeping Totsuka still curled against his side: “Totsuka is sick too.”

“Mmm,” Mikoto’s voice rumbled in his throat, “You need anything?”

“You know, I could use a smoke,” Kusanagi propped himself up on shaking arms. 

Mikoto took a step forward and held the cigarette out toward Kusanagi. Kusanagi accepted it with a grateful nod. He took a long drag. He ended up coughing against his shoulder. Totsuka grunted in protest and tightened his grip on Kusanagi’s middle. 

Totsuka mumbled against his neck, “I’m hungry.” 

Kusanagi nodded, “Now that you mention it, I don’t think I’ve eaten all day.” He gave a pat to Totsuka and got to untangling him. 

Totsuka let out a grunt but settled for latching onto a pillow. Kusanagi took another drag of the cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray. He stood up. Kusanagi’s hand grappled for purchase on the bedside table as his vision swam dangerously. His forehead throbbed. 

“C’mon, stay there,” Mikoto’s palm pressed against Kusanagi’s sternum. 

“You burn _water_ , Mikoto,” Kusanagi’s eyebrows drifted up toward his hairline. Mikoto grumbled low under his breath. Kusanagi stepped forward, “It’ll only take a moment.” 

Kusanagi padded down the hall. Every step made his head throb. He flicked off the kitchen lights and squinted in the darkness. Kusanangi made his way to the fridge: he pulled out carrots, onion, mushrooms, and garlic. He set them down on the counter and reached up into the pantry for a can of chicken broth. A bright butterfly flitted past him. Then he heard the loud yawn from the doorway. Kusanangi set the can down on the counter and turned around.

Totsuka’s hair stood in all different directions and he stumbled through the doorway. He yawned again and rubbed a hand down his face. Kusanangi frowned at him.

“Totsuka.”

“Mmhm?”

“Go back to bed. You’re sick.” 

“Oh, I’m fine,” Totsuka ambled behind the counter and gave his shoulder a pat. 

Kusanangi turned on the stove, the only light in the kitchen coming from Totsuka’s fire-butterfly and the gas burner. He pulled a can of beef broth down and passed it to Totsuka. Totsuka grabbed a can opener.

The rhythm of cooking felt... nice. Even if Kusanagi’s head felt like it might explode every time he moved. The smell of the broth starting to simmer wafted up to him; it smelt good: warm and hearty. He scraped the garlic, carrot, and onion into the pot. Totsuka placed the lid over it while Kusanagi fiddled with the timer on the stove. 

“Tatara?” Anna called from the doorway. 

“Anna!” Totsuka spun around to smile at her. His voice sounded nasally and congested. Anna frowned at him. Totsuka waved a hand, “Don't worry, I only have a bit of a cold.”

Anna’s frown deepened and she looked down at her hands. “It’s my fault.” 

Kusanangi took a step toward her. “No, Anna,” He wished the graviliness of his voice didn’t give him away. Kusanangi knelt down in front of her. His vision wobbled dangerously. He placed his palm on the floor to steady himself.

Anna looked up at him with saucer-wide eyes, “Izumo...?” 

Totsuka came to stand behind him, “It’s okay! Everyone gets sick sometimes— even Mikoto.” He held a hand out to Anna, “It’s no one’s fault.” 

Anna took Totsuka’s hand. Then she stretched up onto her tiptoes and wrapped a small arm around Kusanangi’s neck. Kusanangi gave a pat to her back. 

A gruff voice rumbled from the doorway, “Anna.” 

“Mikoto!” Anna released the two of them and ran to Mikoto. 

Kusanangi stood back up too fast. His temples pounded and he wobbled to the side. His body felt like it kept _spinning_. 

Totsuka’s arms closed around him, “Izumo?”

Kusanangi collapsed down onto his knees. Totsuka fell down with him, sprawling half-atop his back. Kusanangi placed his palms flat on the floor. He squinted at the ground _hard:_ willing his vision to quit moving. Totsuka laid down on his back next to him. Totsuka rubbed a hand across his face.

Kusanangi reached his hand out to Totsuka; “Are you alright?”

Totsuka’s eyes crinkled up when he smiled, “I should be asking you that.” He slipped his fingers through Kusanangi’s.

“Get back to bed.” Mikoto grunted, voice gruff.

“It’s just vertigo, Mikoto,” Kusanangi straightened up onto his knees. “Don’t be such a mother hen.” 

Mikoto hauled Kusanangi up into his arms. It felt absurd with his gangly limbs. Kusanangi scoffed out a noise when Mikoto’s forearm slid underneath his knees. When he lost contact with the ground, Kusanangi’s gut rolled dangerously. He gripped Mikoto’s shoulder.

“Anna,” Mikoto jerked his chin toward Totsuka on the floor, “Make sure Tatara stays there until I come back.”

Anna nodded and sat down next to Totsuka. Totsuka held up two fingers in a parody of a salut. 

Kusanangi’s vision rocked with each of Mikoto’s steps. He squeezed his eyes closed and willed himself not to puke. His back hit the bed with a soft thump. Kusanangi stretched out his sore legs. He blinked his eyes open to look at Mikoto.

Kusanangi sighed, “I’ve set a timer, you had better not ruin my soup.”

Mikoto grunted out a noise that had to settle for being affirmation. Kusanangi barely realized when his eyelids slipped closed again. He woke up moments later to a rustling next to his side. Kusanangi peeled his sore, swollen eyes open to watch Mikoto set Totsuka down next to him on the bed.

“Thanks, King,” Totsuka leaned up like he wanted to kiss him.

Kusanangi reached over and batted a hand against his arm, “You’re still sick. Be careful.”

Totsuka sighed, disappointed clearly, but he nodded. Mikoto straightened up. He hooked his thumbs into his pockets and jerked his chin to the side.

“Call me if you need anything next time.”

“Mmhmm, sure,” Totsuka let out a yawn.

“I’m not fucking around,” Mikoto said, “I mean it.”

Kusanangi _wanted_ to keep listening, but his eyelids felt like they were being pulled closed with steel weights. It only took a few seconds for him to drift back to sleep with Totsuka.  
He woke up to Mikoto setting two bowls of soup down on the bedside table. Kusanangi couldn’t even really smell it past the congestion in his nose. 

Totsuka took a big spoonful, “Mmm, it’s good!”

Kusanangi eyed the soup: it absolutely did _not_ resemble the onion soup he’d started. If he could’ve really tasted much of anything, Kusanangi would’ve heartily disagreed with Totsuka. He would’ve gripped about the weird metallic taste from the can, the dry clumps of chicken. But, he could only really taste _salt._

“What happened to _my_ soup, Mikoto?” Kusanangi’s nose wrinkled up. He stabbed at one of the sad chicken chunks with his spoon.

Mikoto’s voice rumbled, “Just eat, Kusanangi.”

Kusanangi sighed but did as he’d been instructed. Afterward, he settled down next to Totsuka and took a nap.

* * *

Totsuka shoved his hand against the bedside table. Mikoto had said something about medicine, hadn’t he? Totsuka’s mind felt like one big, crusty blur. He groaned at the feel of a pill bottle under his fingers. He lifted it up and squinted at the label: _ibuprofen_. No way in hell would that be strong enough. He gave it a little rattle. It sounded and felt nearly empty. He unscrewed the cap and counted all of two pills. 

Totsuka slipped out of bed as quietly as he could. His socked feet padded across the floor. He looked at the closed door and then to Kusanangi. He had an arm slung over his head with his face pressed against his pillow. Cute. Totsuka crept closer to him and leaned down.

“I’ll be back soon,” He whispered even though he was asleep. Totsuka pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. 

When Totsuka turned around, a hand closed on his wrist. He let out a startled, _guilty_ noise. Kusanangi gave him a pointed look.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“The pharmacy,” Totsuka said, “You wanna come?”

“Not really,” Kusanangi sat up in bed and kicked his legs over the side. He rubbed a hand down his face, “Can you grab my coat?” 

He pulled on yesterday’s jeans and ran a hand through the tangles in his blonde hair. Totsuka tossed his coat over to him. Kusanangi sighed and pulled it on. Totsuka’s fingers hovered over Mikoto’s jacket. He ran a hand against the thick black fur on the hood. 

Totsuka pulled the coat off its hanger and shrugged into it. He pressed his face to the side and inhaled: It smelt like Mikoto’s cologne— the one Kusanangi bought for his birthday. Kusanangi stood up next to him. His finger closed on the tab of Totsuka’s zipper. He zipped it up to his chin.

Totsuka laughed, “Alright, c’mon.” 

Downstairs, the bar was suspiciously quiet. Totally empty actually, other than the clownfish glaring at them from their aquarium. 

Outside, the cold air bit at his cheeks and had him shivering into his jacket. Kusanangi wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Totsuka smiled and leaned against him. The walk to the pharmacy didn’t take that long. 

Totsuka browsed the shelves: _Advil_. No. _Tylenol_. Maybe. _NyQuil_. Absolutely. His fingers closed on the little box and took it to the checkout counter. Kusanangi suddenly let out a surprised noise.

“Seri?” 

Totsuka twisted around to see Scepter 4’s Lieutenant. She had on her work uniform with her hair pulled back tightly. 

Kusanangi smiled at her, “I’m surprised to see you— do you need something?”

“Yes,” She cleared her throat, “We should talk outside.”

“Alright,” Kusanangi agreed as Totsuka gathered up his little bag. 

The wind chilled Totsuka straight to the bone. He sneezed against the crook of his arm. Kusanangi’s hand rested on the small of his back.

“What can I help you with, Seri?”

“Are you alright?” Her eyes squinted at them, mouth pinched into a tight line. Totsuka wondered if she was actually worried about them or just wanted to be polite— he didn’t care either way. 

“Fine,” Kusanangi waved a hand dismissively, “Just a cold that’s making its way through Homra.” 

“Oh,” She cleared her throat, “I’m sorry to bother you then.”

“It’s alright.”

Totsuka technically disagreed with him about that, but decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of Mikoto’s coat.

“There’s a powerful strain in the area,” Seri finally said, “It went missing two days ago. We have reason to believe Homra is involved.” 

“This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“Would you tell me if you knew?”

“I’d like to think I would.”

“Kusanangi,” Seri shook her head, “Scepter 4 will want to take you in for questioning.” 

Kusanangi laughed, he placed a cigarette between his lips, “Are you asking or telling me that, Seri?”

“Asking, but would your answer change either way?”

Kusanangi flicked on his lighter. Seri’s hand raised to the hilt of her saber out of instinct. Kusanangi sighed and lit the cigarette, “You know I can’t do that.” His hand closed on Totsuka’s arm and pushed him behind him. 

“We’re not here to fight,” Seri insisted, “But this strain is dangerous and we need to learn its whereabouts.” 

_“We_?” Kusanangi drawled around the cigarette with smoke spilling from his mouth. 

Totsuka twisted around: leaned up against the building smoking a cigarette stood the Blue King, Munakata. He looked too casual... indifferent to the threat they posed, Totsuka would guess. 

“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble on my account,” Kusanangi breathed out a stiff sigh. 

Munakata straightened up and flicked his cigarette down to the ground. He stubbed it out with the toe of his boot. Seri adjusted her stance, hand still lingering on her saber. 

Munakata looked toward the two of them, “Kusanangi Izumo and Totsuka Tatara—“

“—What the fuck do you think you’re doing, _Munakata_?” A familiar, gruff voice said from behind them.

“King!” Totsuka twisted around to look at Mikoto: he only wore his t-shirt and worn out jeans. He looked furious though, face scrunched tight.

“My job, _Suoh_ ,” Munakata tipped his head back and stared down his nose at him, “Maintaining order in this city.”

“I don’t give a shit about this city,” Mikoto’s upper lip curled back. 

Munakata scoffed, “Oh, I’m well aware of that.” 

Mikoto snarled at him. Totsuka could imagine the fire ready to burst from him. “King,” Totsuka’s hand came to rest against his arm, “C’mon— let’s go home.” 

“Sir,” Seri took a step forward toward Munakata. 

Munakata exhaled, folding his hands tightly behind his back. He nodded, once, rigid and formal. Totsuka watched something in his eyes... _relent_ , like this stalemate had decided in Homra’s favor. Neither of them stopped Totsuka from pulling Mikoto away, Kusanangi following behind. 

“Seri,” Kusanangi looked over his shoulder, “If I hear anything about your strain, I’ll call, ya?” 

“I’d appreciate that,” Seri dipped her head down. Munakata didn’t say another word, his gaze just looked dark and pensive behind the glare of his glasses. 

The three of them walked in silence for a bit. Mikoto still looked on edge, slouched over like a snake readying to strike. Totsuka wondered if he wanted to jerk around, storm back to Munakata and say _fuck it_ to their ceasefire. Part of Totsuka wanted to let him. The other part knew Mikoto wanted more than destruction to follow in his wake.

Kusanangi exhaled a mouthful of smoke, “Mikoto...” 

“What the fuck were you doing?” Mikoto asked— he didn’t sound all that upset considering. Mostly he sounded confused and grouchy.

Totsuka held up the plastic bag and wiggled it. “Medicine.” 

Mikoto smacked his hand against the back of Totsuka’s head. Totsuka laughed and hooked his arm through Mikoto’s. 

“Were you following us?” Totsuka puckered his lips up.

Mikoto shoved the hood over his head. Totsuka wrestled it off so he could see again. Mikoto grumbled out a noise.

“Well, you did take his jacket,” Kusanangi flicked a line of ash off the cigarette. 

“That’s true!” Totsuka tugged on Mikoto’s arm, “C’mon!” He pulled him back into bar Homra.

Mikoto huffed out a breath but followed him in. After Totsuka doled out pills for himself and Kusanangi, the three of them collapsed back in bed together.

* * *

Mikoto woke up with a headache pounding on his temples and his entire face so congested he thought it could fall off. He let out a grunt— but it came out sad and quiet. He rubbed the heel of his palm against one of his swollen, crusty eyes.

“Dammit,” He grunted again. He squinted up at the blurry ceiling and propped himself up. 

“Whoa, King!” Totsuka’s hands pushed at his chest and guided him to lay down on his back. 

Kusanangi’s face swam into view: he had a tight furrow between his brows with his mouth pinched into a frown. 

“What was it you said again?” Kusanangi clicked his tongue, “Oh yes, you had best stay in bed.” 

Mikoto’s eyes drifted closed, “Only if you stay with me.” 

“Sure thing,” Totsuka flopped down next to him, he propped his chin up in his hands. “Oh!” He reached over onto the nightstand and pulled over a box of Kleenex. He gave it a pat.

Mikoto peeled one eyelid open to glare at him, “Totsuka.”

“Mmhmm?”

“You’re not helping.” Mikoto closed his eyes again and Totsuka just laughed. He pressed one small kiss against Mikoto’s cheek.

“Here,” Kusanangi said. Mikoto hadn’t even realized he’d left the room, but there he stood cradling a mug in his hand. Kusanangi held it out toward Mikoto, “It’ll help clear your sinuses at least.” 

Mikoto propped himself up and accepted the offered cup. He took a sip and the spicy taste of ginger, lemon, and honey flooded his mouth. It was also incredibly hot. He hissed out a sharp breath. Mikoto ran his tongue along the burn forming on the roof of his mouth. 

Kusanangi sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. Mikoto settled back down, using Kusanangi’s thigh as a pillow. He balanced the cup on his chest, settling for just smelling it— even though he really couldn’t smell much of anything at all.

A sharp sneeze rattled out of Mikoto’s nose. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned miserably.

Kusanangi’s hand closed over the mug to make sure Mikoto didn’t end up spilling it all over himself and Totsuka pointedly pressed the box of tissues against his arm. 

Mikoto grunted, miserable and sore. His two nursemaids gave a pat to either of his shoulders, which really did absolutely nothing to help.


	5. Kindling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for those of you reading! I hope you enjoy. :)

It was a sweltering hot day in the dead of summer— the type of weather that made the fire under Mikoto’s skin itch and left him feeling... _cagey._

On this particular day, Mikoto woke up to Totsuka grinding up against him and the smell of cigarettes. Mikoto squinted his eyes: he doubted the sun had even risen yet— and yeah, the only light in the room came from the digital clock on the nightstand. Kusanangi looked wide awake though, smouldering cigarette held between his fingers. 

“Shit,” Mikoto rubbed his hand across the back of his mouth.

A wet spot of drool had settled on his shirt courtesy of Totsuka. Torsuka decided to crawl half atop him. His body felt way too warm, and Mikoto could already feel himself stirring with interest. Totsuka mumbled something unintelligible against his chest. 

“Hey there, sleeping beauty,” Kusanangi leaned over Mikoto and pressed a kiss to Totsuka’s forehead. 

Mikoto rolled his eyes and shoved Totsuka off. He flopped onto the mattress with a soft thump. Totsuka let out a quiet, sleepy laugh. Mikoto inhaled slowly, back of his neck already sticky with sweat. The slow, lazy thrum of arousal settled in his gut. Kusanagi leaned over and blew a plume of smoke into his face. 

Mikoto rolled over on top of him. Kusanangi’s legs settled around his waist, cigarette balanced between his teeth. Mikoto fisted a hand into Kusanangi’s hair. He tugged his head back. Kusanangi’s smile looked sharp and eager. Mikoto rolled his hips against him. Kusanangi let out a quiet moan. Totsuka sat up next to them, his eyes looking far too bright and excited. 

Mikoto’s t-shirt had rolled up past the taunt muscle of his stomach. Totsuka’s fingertips stroked along his sleep-warm skin. A groan caught in his mouth when Totsuka’s hand dipped into his boxers. His palm felt deliciously warm against him. Kusanangi exhaled another breathful of smoke against his chin.

Mikoto’s pelvis throbbed— mind clouded from a combination of lust, the fucking _heat_ , and not enough sleep—

“Mikoto?”

The quiet voice from the doorway sent Mikoto rolling off of Kusanangi and had Totsuka’s hand pulling out of his underwear. It left Mikoto feeling cold and miserable. He ran a hand down his face. Well, at least his arousal had basically been doused with ice-cold water.

“Is everything alright, Anna?” Kusanangi asked as he put the cigarette out in the ashtray.

Anna shook her head, “I had a nightmare.” 

“Hey,” Totsuka patted the side of the bed, “It’ll be okay, you can sleep here.”

Mikoto jerked his chin to the side, “Come on.”

Anna’s eyes brightened. She crawled into bed and pressed up against Mikoto’s side. Mikoto sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

* * *

Mikoto went through the motion of the day feeling stiff and robotic. He hadn’t been able to shake the disappointment of their early morning tryst being spoiled— even though he adored Anna. It didn’t help that during the day, the bar always ended up crowded with the rest of the clan. 

Mikoto wondered if Kusanangi’s jeans were tighter than usual, or if he’d unbuttoned his shirt lower— regardless, he looked sinfully good under the amber lights of the bar. Mikoto slouched over and rubbed a hand down his face.

Then Totsuka sauntered into the room, lights catching on the silver necklace he wore. He leaned down toward Mikoto.

“Hey, King.”

Mikoto’s eyes flicked around the room. His gut churned with interest when he realized the three of them were _finally_ the only people in the bar. Mikoto hooked a finger into the chain of Totsuka’s necklace.

“Hey,” Mikoto gave a sharp tug, “C’mere.”

Mikoto wrapped an arm around Totsuka’s back and pulled him down onto the couch with him. Totsuka smiled and moved to straddle his lap. His hips felt warm and solid. Mikoto could feel something heady churning low in his gut.

“Try not to get any stains on the upholstery,” Kusanangi said from behind the bar. 

Totsuka tilted his toward him with another smile, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine!”

Totsuka ducked his head back down and sucked a kiss against Mikoto’s neck. Mikoto groaned at the feeling of his teeth tracing along his pulse point. He knotted a hand into the hair at the base of Totsuka’s neck. 

_“You_ won’t be the one stuck with the cleaning bill,” Kusanangi dragged a cloth along a champagne glass. He clicked his tongue, “The rest of the guys will be back soon.” 

“Mmhmm,” Totsuka mumbled against Mikoto’s skin. Mikoto grabbed onto his flank, pulling him tightly against him. 

“Hey, Kusanangi—“ the door smacked open with Kamamoto’s boisterous call.

Kamamoto stopped midstep. He frowned. Then he backed up and shut the door. Totsuka dropped his head onto Mikoto’s shoulder and _laughed._

Mikoto just sighed.

* * *

The alleyway behind bar Homra was the sort of spot delinquent teens would go to hook up. Hell, Mikoto felt pretty sure they’d fooled around in the same spot when they’d been younger. It felt kind of depressing to be regressing back to that point. Luckily, Mikoto was hard enough that he didn’t give a shit. 

Mikoto backed Kusanangi up against the brick wall. Kusanangi’s lips felt so familiar: soft and warm, reminded him of when he’d been a stupid, overeager kid wanting his best friend to teach him how to kiss. Kusanangi had been a good teacher even if Mikoto had been a shitty student. Mikoto’s teeth closed over his lower lip and gave a soft tug. Kusanangi grinned against him.

Totsuka folded himself against Mikoto’s back, he peppered warm, open-mouthed kisses against the side of his neck. Their bodies felt so warm pressed against him. Mikoto longed to melt into the contact. He felt lightheaded, with all his blood rushing between his legs.

Suddenly he heard a soft thump and a hiss of breath. Mikoto sighed and untangled himself from the other two. He heard another thump from behind the dumpster. Mikoto frowned and sauntered toward it.

Fushimi sat on the ground, pants unzipped and his shirt askew. Fushimi looked Mikoto dead in the eye but didn’t say a word. Yata wiggled on the ground, stuck in his own shirt. He looked sort of like fish flopping about on dry land. 

Mikoto sighed and turned away.

Yata finally wrestled his shirt off, “Huh!” His eyes squinted at the dark alleyway, “Yo, somebody there?”

Fushimi shrugged up his shoulder, “I didn’t see anyone.” The lens of his glasses reflected one of the streetlights overhead.

Yata ambled up onto Fushimi’s lab. “Hey,” He frowned deeply, “You aren’t messin’ with me, are you, Saruhiko?” 

Mikoto could hear it when they started to kiss. He heaved out a sigh when he reached Totsuka and Kusanangi.

“Well, who was it?” A cigarette dangled from Kusanangi’s mouth.

“Yata and Fushimi,” Mikoto grumbled, trying to keep his voice quiet. 

He shoved his hands into his pocket. Hell, he basically pouted like a damn kid. Then again, Mikoto couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so badly cockblocked. 

Totsuka patted his arm, “Hey, don’t worry! I have an idea where no one will find us.” Mikoto smacked the back of his head on principle. Totsuka let out an indignant laugh.

* * *

The tiled entryway looked damn near dilapidated. Mikoto shoved his hands deep into his pant pockets. They were the only people in the lobby, other than the worn out velvet curtain separating them from the staff. 

Kusanangi and Totsuka flipped through the different rooms on the touchscreen. Totsuka tapped his finger against one.

“Hey, King! What about this?” Totsuka smiled at him, close-lipped and coy.

Kusanagi sighed and dropped his forehead into his hand. Totsuka had selected a god-awful room all done in a garish shade of pink with thousands of plush creatures exploding across the bed. Mikoto huffed out a disapproving noise. 

Kusanangi shook his head, “You do realize that staring into the beady eyes of Hello Kitty is a sure fire way to kill a mood, don’t you, Totsuka?”

“Okay, fine,” Totsuka waved a hand and scrolled through some of the other choices, “We have a lot of other options.”

Kusanangi leaned closer to the screen, “That one looks nice.”

“Yeah! I like it— you wanna do that one?” Totsuka asked.

“Sure,” Kusanangi shrugged up a shoulder. Totsuka selected the room. He checked through the options— they’d be there all night, absolutely they wanted a complimentary bottle of champagne—

Mikoto couldn’t even pretend to be interested. His blood felt like it could _boil_ , like he was being simmered on a damn stove. Mikoto shook his head and slowly inhaled.

Kusanagi leaned over and swiped his credit card. The machine let out a high pitched beep and spit out their room keycard.

Their room turned out to be on the top floor, not that they got the benefit of the view with the room being windowless. All things considered it looked nice: dim, amber lights and a super-sized king bed. Of course, the bedsheets were a dark red. Mikoto peered into the bathroom and saw a very large jacuzzi tub. 

Totsuka laughed and held up one of the catalogs that had been spread out in an alcove on the far side of the room, “They let you order costumes here.”

Kusanagi rolled his eyes, “You planning on dressing up like a sexy maid?” 

Totsuka laughed and slid behind him. He strained up onto his tiptoes and hooked his chin over Kusanangi’s shoulder. 

“Live a little!” He nipped at Kusanangi’s earlobe, “Y’know, you’d look hot in one.” 

“Tatara.”

“Izumo,” Totsuka’s teeth closed over his earlobe again. 

Kusanangi sighed and looked at Mikoto: “Mikoto?”

Mikoto tugged his shirt off overhead, “I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

“King!”

“ _Mikoto_.” 

Kusanagi glared at him and Totsuka frowned, but mostly they both looked exasperated. Mikoto walked closer to them. Totsuka slipped out from behind Kusanagi and smacked the rolled up catalogue against his shoulder. Kusanangi crossed his arms.

“I don’t want anything,” Mikoto pulled out a cigarette and sighed, “Other than the two of you.” 

He snapped his fingers and the cigarette lit with a flicker of purple flames. Totsuka smiled, a mischievous gleam in his eye. He sauntered over to the small PDA nestled in the corner of the room. He unrolled the catalogue and started making his selections. 

Kusanangi shook his head, “Really, Mikoto, that’s all?”

“Yeah,” Smoke spilled from Mikoto’s mouth. 

“Come on, King!” Totsuka looked up from the PDA and grinned at him, “Just have fun.” 

Apparently satisfied with his selection, Totsuka flipped over to another screen on the PDA. The room suddenly filled with quiet music— something with a fast tempo and smooth rhythm.

“What are you up to, Totsuka?” Kusanangi asked.

Totsuka’s grin widened, “You still a good dancer?” 

“I haven’t had an occasion in a while,” Kusanangipointedly pushed his glasses up higher on his nose, “Why do you ask?” 

Kusanagi held his hand out toward Totsuka, so he knew damn well what he was up to. Totsuka smiled and pulled Kusanangi close to him.

Mikoto vaguely recalled a few years back when Totsuka had gotten into dancing in preparation for a festival in Shizume. Mikoto didn’t remember him being very good at it. Then again, they hadn’t gone to the festival that year anyway. 

Kusanagi’s right hand came up to rest firmly against Totsuka’s back. Kusanagi guided Totsuka into the correct position, then he stepped forward. He had an easy fluidness to his movements, like the dance came as naturally as breathing. 

Kusanangi could dance well, Mikoto knew that already. And he didn’t disappoint here: the long lines of his body were relaxed, fucking _beautiful_. He had absolute control over each and every step he took. In comparison, Totsuka looked way too... _apathetic_. Like if he ended up stepping on Kusanangi’s foot, it’d all work out anyway. Mikoto took a long drag of his cigarette. Something heady and desperate settled low in his gut.

“You must be popular at parties,” Totsuka’s voice dropped down to purr in his throat, “Such a ladies man.” His thigh slid between Kusanangi’s legs.

Kusanangi gave up trying to guide him into the correct rhythm, “Sometimes you’re a horrible student.”

Totsuka wrapped his arms around his neck and tugged him down close. Their mouths pressed together— moving in a slick, perfect rhythm. Totsuka pressed his thigh up higher against the hardness starting to tent Kusanangi’s jeans. Kusanangi groaned against his mouth. Kusanangi slid one of his hands down between his hips. The heel of his palm pressed against Totsuka’s crotch. Totsuka let out a noise this time, a soft gasp that caught in his throat. Mikoto exhaled a shaky breath. 

Suddenly the PDA gave a shrill ping. Totsuka and Kusanangi lurched apart on impulse. Totsuka walked over to the screen. He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb to the door.

“Sounds like our delivery is here!” 

Mikoto just grunted. His pants were already feeling uncomfortably tight. Kusanangi’s gaze drifted toward him. His eyes flicked down to Mikoto’s crotch.

“You’re something of a tease, Totsuka,” Kusanangi sighed.

Totsuka laughed, “Don’t worry! It’ll be worth it.”

Totsuka slipped out into the little room that made up the entryway. He came back carrying a black canvas bag. He jerked his chin toward the bathroom.

“C’mon, Kusanangi!”

Kusanangi sighed again, but followed him in. Mikoto could hear a sharp noise of protest from Kusanangi, but then nothing.

Mikoto sat down on the bed and settled against the headboard. He took a drag of his cigarette. Mikoto pulled his t-shirt up over head. The room felt blessedly cool on his bare skin. He cupped his palm between his hips. He hissed out an eager breath around the cigarette. His index and middle finger closed around the zipper tab. He softly groaned as he unzipped his pants. 

Mikoto glanced over to the bedside table: an assortment of candy-colored _and_ candy-flavored lubes and condoms all lined up in neat little rows. He rolled his eyes and flicked a long line of ash off the cigarette into the ashtray.

After a few moments, they stepped out of the bathroom. They were both in skintight short shorts— the type Scepter 4’s lieutenant would wear— with neon orange suspenders. Totsuka popped a cheap plastic firefighter’s hat on his head. It felt ridiculous, but something about the bright smile on Totsuka’s face made Mikoto’s chest tighten. Kusanagi sighed and put his hands on his hips.

Mikoto smiled, close-lipped and small: of course they looked good, hell, Kusanangi looked especially lean with his long legs and Totsuka’s hips looked narrow and trim. Excitement rushed down between Mikoto’s legs.

“Listen, sir, we’ve had complaints about fires in the area,” Totsuka collapsed down onto the bed. He tipped his head back to stare at Mikoto upside down, “Any idea what could be causing them?” The stupid hat fell off his head onto the bedspread. 

Kusanangi rolled his eyes and sat down next to Totsuka. He folded his ankle over his knee, “What, you can’t arrest him, Totsuka?” He leaned over and nudged the hat off the bed. It hit the floor with a plastic clatter.

Totsuka laughed and shook his head, “That’s not in my job description.” 

Kusanangi flicked open his lighter and lit himself a cigarette, “ _Well_ , I hope you don’t mind me smoking on the job as it were.” Totsuka gently smacked a hand against his arm. 

“Turn around,” Mikoto took a long drag of his cigarette.

Totsuka spun around, knees bouncing against the mattress. He folded his arms up overhead and stretched, muscles of his back held taunt. His ass did look ridiculously good in those stupid shorts.

Kusanangi rolled his eyes and got up to his feet, back facing them, “This doing it for you, Mikoto?”

A noise rumbled in Mikoto’s throat. Like this, he could see the clan markings on both their shoulders. Like they belonged to _him_. That thought would’ve normally made his skin itch but now pleasure jolted between his hips. Mikoto opened his legs up wider.

Kusanangi looked over his shoulder at him; his gaze warm and fond. One of his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his shorts. He tugged the fabric down to show the sharp jut of his hipbone. The cigarette dangled from between his lips. 

Totsuka scooted closer and smacked a hand against Kusanangi’s ass, “Hot!”

Kusanangi twisted around and pressed his palm against Totsuka’s chest. Totsuka let out a gasp when his back hit the mattress. Kusanangi leaned over him, placing one of his knees up on the bed between Totsuka’s thighs. Totsuka let out a quiet moan when Kusanangi’s knee pressed higher.

Kusanangi spoke around the cigarette, “What was that?” He blew a mouthful of smoke against Totsuka’s lips.

Totsuka let out a breathless groan, hips arching up against the contact. Kusanangi’s hand pressed down harder on his sternum to keep him pinned. Mikoto stubbed out the cigarette against the ashtray. Both Kusanangi and Totsuka looked up at him: pupils blown wide and dark. 

Mikoto nodded at them, “Come here.” 

Mikoto opened his legs up wider to give Kusanangi room. He settled down on his knees, long fingers easing Mikoto’s unzipped pants open wider. Totsuka hovered by Mikoto’s side. He leaned closer and pressed his mouth against Mikoto’s ear.

“Burn, baby, burn,” Totsuka teased with his teeth momentarily closing over Mikoto’s earlobe.

Mikoto’s hand stroked up along his hip. His thumb hooked into the suspender strap and gave it a sharp flick. Totsuka softly moaned against him, head tucking down to suck a kiss against Mikoto’s neck. Mikoto stroked his fingers against the waistband before he slipped his hand inside to cup Totsuka’s bare ass. Totsuka let out a breathy little moan against his neck.

Kusanangi grinned up at him, tinted glasses slipping down low on his nose. Mikoto hissed at the sudden feeling of cold air on his shaft. Then the flat of a very warm tongue dragged along the head. Mikoto grunted, fingers squeezing Totsuka out of impulse. His fingers dipped down lower: he could feel the wet, stickiness of lube warmed from Totsuka’s skin. Arousal flooded Mikoto’s gut when he thought of them being ready, waiting for him—

Kusanangi’s mouth closed over his tip. Mikoto let out a gruff groan. His mouth felt deliciously wet and hot. Kusanangi’s tongue pressed against him in a way that left him aching and desperate. Mikoto’s hand drew out of Totsuka’s shorts, he pulled at the clasps of his suspenders. Totsuka unsnapped his suspenders and dragged his shorts down around his thighs. Mikoto cupped a hand against him again, feeling the firm weight of his ass. 

Then Kusanangi’s headed bobbed down and Mikoto couldn’t think of anything else. Just _up, down, burning hot and deliriously wet—_

Way too soon, Kusanangi drew away with a soft _pop_. Mikoto instantly missed the feel of his mouth. Kusanangi slipped out of the suspenders, fingers hooking into the waistband of the shorts. He got up onto his knees. Kusanangi pulled his shorts off in a single fluid motion. 

_“King_ ,” This time the word sounded desperate and sordid, made all the blood rush from Mikoto’s head. 

Totsuka wrestled out of his shorts fully too, kicking them off when they clung to an ankle. A pink flush had broken out along his chest and the tips of his ears.

Kusanangi laid down on his back, legs opening up in invitation. He tipped his head back with a tiny little smirk on his mouth. His warm breath fogged up the purple glass with every exhale. Mikoto reached over and pulled his glasses off. He set them down on the bedside table. 

Totsuka laid down against Kusanangi’s chest. He eased his knees further apart and arched his back. Kusanangi shifted underneath him, heels digging into the bed as he opened his legs wider. Their naked skin pressed against each other, pinked and warm from arousal.

Mikoto dropped down onto his haunches between Kusanangi’s legs. He wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft. A soft exhale caught in his throat. The rough fabric of his jeans pressed against Kusanangi’s hips. He guided himself against him, then his tip pressed inside. It felt warm, _wet_ —

Kusanangi let out a quiet gasp, fingers digging into Totsuka’s shoulder. Totsuka carded his fingers through Kusanangi’s sweat-damp hair. 

“You’re so good,” Totsuka murmured against Kusanangi’s neck. 

Mikoto hummed, the sound rumbling low in his throat. Kusanangi let out a quiet laugh. His hips pressed up suddenly. Mikoto groaned at the feeling as he slid inside fully. Mikoto took a moment to steady himself before he started to move.

Kusanangi’s toes curled against the blanket; a quiet, desperate sound catching in his throat. Totsuka sucked a kiss against the underside of his neck, which made him groan louder. Mikoto rocked against him, hell, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to do.

When Mikoto pulled out the air felt ice-cold against his burning skin. He adjusted his grip, reaching up and tugging Totsuka’s hips further back. He got up onto his knees and pressed against him. 

Totsuka let out a soft moan when Mikoto’s tip pushed inside. Kusanangi’s hands moved to cradle his jaw. He leaned up and pulled Totsuka into a kiss. Arousal thrummed through Mikoto’s veins: the wet, soft sounds of them kissing made him feel lightheaded. Between his hips he throbbed. He gave into the urge and sank into Totsuka fully. 

Totsuka softly groaned against Kusanangi’s mouth when Mikoto started to move. Mikoto felt sweat dripping down his jawline. He wanted to keep his pace, to not give in to the voice in his hindbrain telling him _faster_ , _harder_ —

Kusanangi tucked a hand between his and Totsuka’s bodies. He positioned their shafts together and Totsuka let out a sharp little gasp. Totsuka tucked his forehead down against the crook of Kusanangi’s neck. Mikoto’s jeans felt smolderingly hot and sweaty against his skin.

Mikoto pulled out suddenly, Totsuka let out a soft moan in surprise. Mikoto shoved his jeans down lower, past the swell of his ass. He nudged Totsuka’s hips, guiding him higher up on Kusanangi’s stomach again.

Mikoto’s hips moved forward, nudging against Kusanangi and slipping back inside with little resistance. Kusanangi let out a short groan, one of his hands tangling up in Totsuka’s hair. 

He felt like his veins were on _fire_ , ready to burst to life— the sounds of their stifled moans and the feel of warm, slick flesh felt like damn kindling, building and building him up until he really would explode. 

Mikoto rocked into him— he lost himself to the rhythm of their bodies pressing against him, the feeling of him sliding inside and pulling out— 

Afterward, Mikoto felt sticky and gross and knew he had to smell. He finally peeled his jeans all the way off. Totsuka collapsed down next to him, a fine sheen of sweat on his chest. Kusanangi lit a cigarette and stretched up to stand. 

Totsuka’s eyes were bright and happy, “Wanna hop in the jacuzzi, King?” He tipped his head toward the bathroom door. 

“You _do_ look like mess,” Kusanangi pointed out with a wave of his cigarette. “Then again, so do the two of us,” He took a long drag. 

Totsuka hopped up from the bed and held a hand out to Mikoto, “Come on!” 

Mikoto sighed but followed him up. Later, with the hot water surrounding his body, Totsuka hanging off his arm and Kusanangi’s hands massaging shampoo into his hair, Mikoto felt... _peaceful_.Fucking _tamed_ , he supposed, like a lion who’d developed an appetite for filet mignon or some shit like that.

Mikoto tipped his head backward and sighed. Maybe his days roaming the proverbial savanna really had come to an end. Regardless, Mikoto already had the two people he really wanted. And they had him too, not that he had to tell either of them that: they knew that already.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read!  
> I enjoyed writing this and am more than a little obsessed with the Mikoto/Kusanangi/Totsuka triad, so I hope you liked it.


End file.
